waiting room evangelism

Last week I had my annual appointment with my neurologist to evaluate migraines and refill my meds. And, yep, you guessed it: I got to educate yet another world class Duke doctor on Mold Toxicity, MARCoNS (read more about that here), my treatment plan, and how all of that may be impacting the efficacy of my migraine meds. I might need a t-shirt for doctor appointments that says “Mold Ambassador” to give my non-integrative doctors fair warning.

While the neurology appointment itself was fairly mundane (yay for a boring appointment!), it was an interaction in the waiting room that has kept me thinking. I arrived to a pretty full room and took a seat near a woman in a wheelchair. As I started staring into my phone as we do in waiting rooms these days, she reached over and silently handed me a construction paper heart with the word “love” written in Sharpie on one side and a verse of scripture on the other. I took it, smiled, and politely said thank you. Then, I noticed that she had created a full craft zone. She had taken up a couple chairs with her construction paper, scissors, and pens. What is this lady up to???

When I seemed receptive to her kind gift, she softly whispered, “I don’t know why you’re here today, but I proclaim in the name of Jesus that you will be healed. You may be going through it now but you will be healed. I know that.” 

Now, I know this lady had no idea about my life these days. No idea that I have been out of work for almost 6 months. No idea that the mold in my sinuses will NOT go away. No idea that I continue to be uncertain about what the future holds. And certainly no idea that I’ve worked in a church for the last 15 years. But, in that moment, it sure felt like a little message from God right there in the neuro waiting room. 

Her name was Beverly. She was around 65 or so and dressed to the nines in a snazzy red and black outfit. She told me about how she had experienced 5 strokes, nearly died, but survived, even though her body isn’t fully cooperating now (thus the wheelchair). She told me about her young life as a drug addict, living on the street, losing everything, then getting back on her feet. She used her construction paper, folding it, turning it, and tearing it to illustrate each chapter in the story of her life, ending with a cross she folded into an upward arrow. It was utterly captivating. She was a beautiful story teller and a gentle spirit. She had the presence and wisdom of someone who’s seen the worst this life has to offer and came out on the other side. She was the kind of seasoned church lady that you couldn’t shock if you tried. She may seem all prim and proper but she’s seen it all. After making it through some major ups and downs, she now feels called to use whatever life she has left to serve God. She never tried to quiz me on scripture, “save” me, or get me to talk about my own faith. She was trying to let her life speak as an example of what it means to trust in and live for God.

She gave me her homemade business card. “Anointed Vessels Used by God Outreach Ministry”.  Now, I know next to nothing about Pastor Beverly’s theology, though this traditional PC(USA) Presbyterian expects we likely disagree on more than a few details. But at that moment, in the waiting room, those details didn’t matter one bit. She was there to offer me hope and a message of God’s love. Hope and love are two things I can always get behind theologically. And I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it.

I watched as she tried to give a hand made heart to everyone that passed by. Occasionally a nurse or patient would take one and keep moving. But I saw more people intentionally ignoring her, afraid to get roped into whatever the heart was an opener for. Others in the waiting room witnessing our conversation kept giving me the eye…like they were looking for a signal that I needed rescuing. We’ve all been accosted by people trying to save our souls, whether it’s online, walking down the street, or on our own front door step. It’s understandable that people didn’t want to get involved in whatever brand of crazy christian she was hocking. But for some reason that day, my cynicism and high church mindset wasn’t front of mind. I didn’t stay buried in my security blanket of a phone. Instead, I welcomed Beverly’s gift,  listened to her story, and received her words of hope for my healing and my future. 

From your mouth to God’s ears, Pastor Bev!

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